Stimulation
by phattrash
Summary: Sam and Dean fall victim to a curse that amps up their affection for each other beyond its normal boundaries. Much awkwardness ensues. Warnings: very mild wincest and a half-ton of schmoop.
1. Chapter 1

"What're we gonna do about this, Dean? If we don't break this thing soon, I'm gonna drown myself in the shower."

Sam paced around the motel room restlessly, his hands fisted in the hem of his shirt, his eyes fixed on the floor. Dean sighed noiselessly and shrugged, though he knew his brother wouldn't see it.

"The hell _can_ we do? My first instinct is to pay Bobby a visit, but we damn well can't do that now."

He paused, cast a furtive glance at Sam, then immediately whipped his eyes away. "Think we'll make it through a call with him?"

Sam stopped pacing. "Uh. D'you wanna be the one to explain this mess to him? Because I know you'd be so much better at it. You're really great with this kind of thing."

Dean winced. Sam's voice had pitched from irritated into adoring within the space of half a minute.

"Shit. Dean, we're not gonna survive that phone call."

"Hey, hey, hey, don't worry," Dean began in an earnest voice, before clearing his throat and continuing hurriedly, "If one of us is out of the room, maybe the effects won't be so obvious. I'll call Bobby, give him as little info about this situation as possible, and have him figure something out for us. Easy. You can wait outside until we're done. I'll take care of it, okay? I hate to see you upset."

Dean's last sentence was spoken so emphatically that Sam returned his gaze to his brother's was now wearing a slight frown, his hand pressed over his mouth. Against his will, Sam's hands reached for Dean's face and cupped it softly.

"Dammit!"

Sam overcame the urge with a bit of mental effort, and snatched his hands away as if he'd been burned. Dean's ears were so red it would've been funny under different circumstances. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I'll let you make that call." Sam backed out of the room, successfully stifling the desire to utter an embarrassing term of endearment.

Out in the hallway, away from his brother's tantalizing presence, Sam's heartbeat slowed considerably. This curse was making it impossible to be within ten feet of Dean without wanting to shower him with affection. Anything his brother said made him feel light-headed with admiration and warmth, and it was completely fucking unbearable. It was all Sam could do to repress his supernaturally-induced ardor and only let slip a few aborted movements and some gooey compliments. He imagined Dean was facing similar troubles, because he'd spent the entire morning clenching his teeth and reddening in Sam's presence. Sam slumped against the wall and ran a hand through his hair. He wondered how Dean's conversation with Bobby was going. Knowing him, the old man was probably getting a huge kick out of this disaster. Sam groaned quietly and prayed that Dean wasn't humiliating himself too badly in there.

A minute later, he jumped as the door to their motel room swung open. Sam straightened and looked nervously at Dean, who was staring at the floor again. The guy had stupidly long eyelashes. Sam dug his nails into his palm.

"So what's the verdict?"

"A week. Probably." Sam sucked in a breath. "Yeah? That's, uh, that's not so bad."

"Yeah. Bitch could've done worse."

"Any solution that we know of?"

"Nope. Gonna have to tough this one out."

"..."

"..."

"How'd Bobby take it?"

Dean grimaced at the question, offering no further answer.

"You gonna come in, Sammy, or are you planning to sleep out here?"

Sam nearly choked on the idea of spending hours in a cramped room with Dean and the throbbing pressure in his chest.

"Actually, I was thinking that it'd be best if I got a separate room. Put a little damper on this curse."

As soon as he got the words out, he was surprised to see a flash of desperation cross Dean's features. He wanted to wrap his arms around him and squeeze until they both disintegrated.

"No, Sam, don't. I can't...if you're not with me, the curse'll drive me insane. I won't be able to think about anything but you. I won't get anything done."

Dean swallowed and attempted to press his lips together, but he evidently had more to say.

"I just...I need you. I want you to stay with me. We can wait this thing out together. I'm useless without you, Sam, you know that."

He stopped, covered his face with his hands. "Jesus Christ, what am I saying?"

Sam fidgeted uncertainly, battling with a combination of embarrassment and overwhelming fondness. He smiled, then, and took a step into the room.

"Okay, Dean. We can make this work."

Dean followed him inside at a safe distance. "I sound like a little girl, for crying out loud."

Sam forced a smirk, but he couldn't hold back the rush of happiness singing through him at the things Dean had said earlier. This was one hell of a curse they were dealing with.

**(TBC?) **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hallelujah, it's an update. There's hope for this fic yet. (Sorry for the length. I pumped out this chapter in between classes.) **

* * *

"This sucks."

Dean joined Sam on the curb outside their motel, nearly twisting a leg in his efforts to sit a foot away from him. The effects of this thing had been intensifying all day. After Dean's humiliating little outburst, they'd decided to get on with business as usual. No matter what they'd tried doing, though-whether it was researching or driving or cleaning the guns-they were way too distracted to focus on the job. After almost crashing the Impala into a telephone pole on their way from the gas station to the site of their next lead, Dean had declared that they weren't fit to work in their current state. He could barely skim a news article without trying to bite his own tongue off for fear of what he'd say to Sam, let alone work a life-threatening case with him.

"Um, S-s," Dean broke into a brief bout of coughing before trying again, "Ssa...uh, hey. Don't you think it's weird that this thing is getting stronger? It's been a whole day already."

Sam spoke to the pavement, mile-long legs stretched out in front of him. "We've still got a week to go, Dean. Maybe we're just feeling the passage of time." Dean made a small strangled noise in response. He couldn't imagine how he'd last six more days of this agonizing self-restraint. Thanks to the goddamn curse, every fiber in his body quivered with a bone-deep ache, with a debilitating _need_ that grew by the minute.

Part of him wanted to tell Sam that it would be best if he camped out at the library or whatever until this thing cleared out of their systems, but just the thought of being separated from his brother had him seconds away from hyperventilating. As Dean had discovered later that morning, he started to fall apart when Sam was out of sight. This was fucking stupid. The Winchester brothers had been rendered completely useless by some newbie witch. They were pissing and moaning and getting absolutely nothing done while some poor sucker out there was getting liquefied by who-knows-what. Dean glanced at Sam cautiously, and _goddammit_. He squeezed his eyelids shut.

A viscous canopy of silence hung between them, the hushed twilight atmosphere yielding nothing but the chirp of the occasional cricket and the murmur of the breeze. Dean kept his eyes closed, but doing so was starting to sting. The sensation burned its way down the sides of his cheeks, tracing imaginary tear tracks, and Dean really, really wanted to see Sam's face. He began to hum to calm himself down a little, but Sam's smile and Sam's concerned eyes and Sam's fringe of hair, and Dean wanted to sew his lips together with wire. He hummed louder.

"Metallica?"

Dean's eyelids fluttered open. He wanted to make a retort, but knew he'd only end up making an ass of himself.

"I love it when you do that. It's adorable." Sam's voice dripped with genuine emotion. Dean's heart almost stopped. "Dude," he pleaded, wishing his brother would try harder to suppress this shit. Every time Sam slipped up, Dean's own symptoms became intolerable.

"Dammit, Dean, this is exhausting. Can't we just knock our walls down for a little bit? You said it yourself; restraining it is only making it worse."

Dean's body tingled at the idea of reprieve, but he gritted his teeth and held his ground. "Can't. We can't. We don't know how far the curse'll push us." A seed of horror at the thought burst in Dean's mind, but it was soon obscured by a scalding desire that made him want to punch himself in the face. He started talking to shut his mind up, tripping over his own words.

"Sam, we can't. We can't, alright? It'd ruin everything. Think about what'd happen once the curse breaks. I don't know about you, but I'm not about to sacrifice our relationship for this crap. Because honestly, Sam? I don't know how I'd live without you. I love you, and I need us to be okay." Dean felt like he'd been running a marathon, hands clammy, heart screaming. He turned to face his brother, which, of course, was a bad idea. Sam looked kind of dazed, his eyes fixated on a point past Dean's shoulder. When he spoke, his voice was soft and distant.

"Hey, Dean. You're giving in."

Dean slammed his fist into his knee, wishing that the witch who'd done this to them would suddenly reappear, so he could rip her guts into tiny pieces. "I love you, you piece of shit." Dean could feel his self-imposed hold on the curse slackening, and his head spun with the force of it. He gazed helplessly at Sam, drinking him in.

"You look so good when you're worried about me."

Sam flinched a little at the admission, spots of red blooming on his cheeks. "God, Dean. I...I love you, too."  
Dean's blood thundered through his veins, and his carefully-erected mental barricade finally crumbled into nothing. Words flew out of his mouth unbidden. "I'm sorry for throwing away your amulet. It feels like a piece of me's missing without it."  
Sam interjected, sounding just as rushed and disoriented.

"It's okay. I'm just glad you'd worn it for all those years. Dean, I'd...I'd let the whole world go to hell if it meant I could save you."

"You already know I feel the same way about you."

"Do you? I've screwed up so much recently that I thought-"

"Thought what? That you were burdening me? That I was getting sick of you and your emotional baggage?"

"I-"

"Guess what, Sam. You _are_ a burden. You're a great big burdensome bastard and sometimes the shit you pull scares me to death. But you're my brother, and you're my fucking _soulmate_, and I'm never, ever getting sick of you. You could snap and murder half a town in cold blood, and I'd be right there with you."

Sam blinked rapidly and scratched the back of his neck, his breath audibly catching in his throat.

"You're perfect."

Dean stared blankly at Sam before acknowledging what he'd said.

"Wh-what?"

Sam's entire face turned crimson. "I don't know what I can say that'll show you how I feel, but everything you're saying is so relieving, so_ good_, and I don't know how to top it. Just...thank you, Dean. For everything."

"You sound like you're planning on dying tomorrow."

"Hey, it's highly probable."

"Not on my watch."

"I couldn't have asked for a better big brother."

"Sam, you..."

The tumultuous conversation ceased for a minute, and incredulous looks were traded.

"We sound ridiculous. What if someone saw us serenading each other out here?"

Dean rested his elbows on his knees and shrugged, adopting a casual tone, though his breathing rate was still abnormal. "On the bright side, I feel a lot better. The pounding in my skull's eased up."

"Yeah, me too. We, uh, knocked those walls down."

"Yup."

Sam tore his eyes away from Dean and turned his head skyward. "Look, we can actually see the stars from here." Sam's hair hung over his eyes like a curtain, laced with strands of gold in the moonlight. Dean was suddenly fascinated with the way it curled behind Sam's ears. He shifted his body so that he was closer to his brother, his eyes lazily tracing those whorls of hair.

"Y'know, Proxima Centauri might be one of the first destinations for interstellar travel."

"Huh?"

Sam continued to face the sky, his voice almost reverential. "Proxima Centauri, the closest known star to the sun. It's thought that a planet orbiting it could support life. I know you're strictly a 'seeing is believing' kind of guy, and the angels've never mentioned anything about alternate Earths, but it's interesting to think about."

Dean grinned and shook his head. "Don't ever change, Sammy."

Sam refocused on Dean and raised his eyebrows curiously, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "What's with the face?"

"Nothing, nothing. Keep talking, I like hearing you talk."

"You're making fun of me."

"I'm not. It's cute when you show off your smarts, college boy."

"Have it your way. I'm gonna shut my mouth and brood for the rest of the night."

"Aww, don't be such a buzz-kill. Talk entropy to me, poindexter."

"Not saying a word."

"Wuss."

Sam beamed at him and nudged him with his shoulder. "The curse's calmed down some. I feel completely normal right now." Dean froze. "Uh...sure. Me too. A-ok." Sam squinted at him, a look of skepticism wiping the openness from his face. "Wait, are you saying your symptoms haven't let up at all?"

"What're you talking about? I said I'm fine."

Sam rolled his eyes, to which Dean groaned resignedly. "If you must know, I was doing great until you flashed those goddamn dimples of yours."

Sam winced. "Wow."

Dean slapped a palm to his forehead in frustration. "Awesome. Here we go again." He scooted away from Sam, putting a couple of reassuring inches between them. "This's been the most embarrassing day of my life. I won't be able to make a crack about your dewy eyes ever again without feeling gross." Dean sighed morosely and examined the scuffed toe of his boot. He looked up when he noticed that Sam had started to laugh.

"Um...?"

Sam was now doubled over, mirthful tears streaming down his face.

"Dude, I don't see anything funny about this situation." Dean was finding it exceedingly hard to continue scowling, despite himself. Sam wiped his eyes and waved a hand in conciliation. "Sorry, sorry. It's just...our lives are _really_ weird."

"Wouldn't have it any other way. Now, uh, wanna trade disgusting compliments? My head's pounding like a motherfucker."

"Whoa, wait. What happened to your facade? Two minutes ago you were starting to shut down again."

Dean regarded Sam wonderingly. "Change of heart."

"Oh."

Sam ducked his head, and a painful silence ensued.

"...I like your hair."

"My...?"

"Throw me a bone here, Sam. I'm crying on the inside."

Sam blinked. "Ah, right. Right. Um. You have great eyes?"

Dean grimaced even as he dug through his grab-bag of endearments. "Your bitching is freakin' precious."

"Your over-protectiveness is charming."

"Sweet cheeks."

"Light of my life."

"Sugar buns."

"Snugglepuss."

Dean gagged. "I swear I'm gonna throw up if we keep going."

Sam made a face and nodded. "There's no way this is working. You feel any different?"

"Nope. Still feels like I'm having a stroke."

"I guess it doesn't count if we're being insincere."

"Man. Gotta do everything the hard way, huh."

"Mmhm. Hey, Dean? Let's hold hands."

Dean nearly jumped out of his skin. "Jesus. Can you stop springing this shit on me out of nowhere? My fragile state of mind can't take it."

Sam smiled, dimples popping into view. "C'mon, I'm only looking out for you. Can't have this curse killing you off before your time."

"Yeah? And what time is that?"

Sam twined his fingers with Dean's. "Shut up, old man."

Dean wondered if Sam could sense the blistering heat rolling off him in waves.

* * *

**TBC?**


End file.
